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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28571217">Behind the Scenes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Practically_An_XMan/pseuds/Practically_An_XMan'>Practically_An_XMan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Roanoke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Chaptered, Dylan deserved better, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:14:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28571217</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Practically_An_XMan/pseuds/Practically_An_XMan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wren Jackson is an SFX makeup artist working on the set of My Roanoke Nightmare. Today, she's getting to know the actors</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dylan (AHS Roanoke)/Original Female Character, Dylan / Original Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Welcome to Roanoke</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>- This is my first fic published on AO3. Go easy on me.<br/>- I'm not an SFX artist, take my portrayal with a grain of salt<br/>- Also that feeling when you're writing for such a minor and underappreciated character that he doesn't even have a last name</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“And do you have any allergies?” Wren asked, following along to the checklist on her clipboard. In a few days, they’d begin filming My Roanoke Nightmare, but as a special effects artist, she first needed to meet with the actors and go through a few things. The last thing she wanted was for one of the actors to wind up with an allergic reaction to the makeup she used while they were filming 10 miles outside of nowhere. </p>
<p>“Not that I know of.” the extra answered. He was playing one of the settlers, though it didn’t seem like she’d need to do much to scruff him up for the camera. He probably didn’t even own a hairbrush. Or deodorant. Yeesh. </p>
<p>“Alright. I’m going to patch test the makeup, just to be sure.” she continued, following protocol. He held out his arm, and Wren swiped samples of the different products across it. She really wanted to be done with this guy. Dude smelled like a barn and she still had more actors to work with.</p>
<p>“If you experience any itching, burning, or swelling in this area, call me. Or call Sidney.” she finished, marking his name as done on her sheet and excusing him. He waved her goodbye and got up to leave.</p>
<p>“Oh! And can you send…” she paused, looking at her list of names, “...Dylan Walker in, please?” The extra nodded and left. Wren tidied up her workspace as she waited for her next actor. </p>
<p>She caught movement in the doorway and turned, expecting Dylan. Instead, the person standing in the doorway was a short older woman wearing a scowl that could curdle milk. She had to be playing the Butcher. </p>
<p>“Agnes?” one of the other artists called, waving her towards their station, “I’m Tyler, I’ll be your MUA for the filming process” Tyler was friendly enough, if a little overenthusiastic. But Agnes just glared at them as she walked over.</p>
<p>“You will address me as Mrs. Winstead. Or the Butcher.” she demanded. Damn. Wren had encountered plenty of Method actors during her work, but she could already tell Mrs. Winstead was going to be a handful. She felt bad for Tyler, she knew they were fairly new to the trade. She was tempted to step in, maybe to relieve some of the tension in the room, but she was interrupted by another person entering the room.</p>
<p>This time it was Dylan. Wren waved him over with a smile and watched as he walked over to her cluttered workstation.</p>
<p>“Mr. Walker?” she said, extending a hand to him. He shook it with a firm grip.</p>
<p>“Dylan, please. And you are?”</p>
<p>“Wren Jackson. I’ll be your makeup artist during filming. Please, have a seat.” He did, and she grabbed her sketchbook to show him a few of her ideas. She heard something clatter behind her, and Tyler swore. Probably having trouble dealing with Agnes. She returned her attention to Dylan. </p>
<p>“Okay. So we don’t have a lot of makeup for you until we get to the poison scene. Just some scars and dirt, the costume’s really what’ll sell it.” Wren explained. As she spoke, she grabbed a few products that she would need to test. </p>
<p>She looked over his face one more time, the ideas falling together in her head. She told herself it was entirely clinical, just looking for how the makeup would work best on his face, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t find him extremely attractive. His icy blue eyes met hers for a second, and the corner of his mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. Wren ducked her head sheepishly.</p>
<p>“How do you feel about growing out your beard?” she asked, trying to get back into “work mode”. He drew a hand over his jaw thoughtfully, over the well-groomed beard he kept.</p>
<p>“Not a problem.” he said after a moment. Wren grinned.</p>
<p>“Awesome. Any allergies?” she continued.</p>
<p>“Nope.” </p>
<p>“Okay,” she marked it down on her sheet, “Give me your arm? I need to patch test the makeup.” He obliged, holding out his arm for her to swipe some products over it (while distinctly <em>not</em> thinking about how the muscles in his forearm flexed as she did so). Another crash sounded from the back of the room, and this time Agnes was the one to shout. Wren winced.</p>
<p>“Sorry, I should probably take care of that.” she hastily apologized, setting down her brush. “Be back in a minute.”</p>
<p>“No worries.” Dylan assured her as she rushed over to Tyler’s station. They were caught in a heated argument with Agnes, who apparently refused to cooperate for the makeup swatch test. </p>
<p>“Tyler, take five.” Wren insisted, clapping them on the back and ushering them out of the room. Agnes glared at them as they walked out, face red. Wren forced herself into her “customer service voice”</p>
<p>“Ag- er, Mrs. Winstead? What seems to be the issue?” Wren asked cordially, a sympathetic smile on her face.</p>
<p>“My makeup artist doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing!” Agnes complained, her faint Southern accent becoming more pronounced in her anger. Judging from the look in her eyes, Wren knew she’d lose any argument she tried to make. She just sighed.</p>
<p>“Well, I’ll tell you what. If you let them get past the allergy tests and all that today, I’ll….I’ll talk to Sidney and see about doing your makeup myself for the show.” Wren offered. She knew Agnes would be hell to work with, but judging from today, Tyler was clearly not prepared to deal with her. They could take that smelly extra instead. </p>
<p>Her offer seemed to appease Agnes, who nodded begrudgingly. Tyler came back in a moment later, and thankfully Agnes remained cooperative this time. Wren ran a hand through her hair, exasperated, and walked back to her own station.</p>
<p>“Sorry again for all that. Usually these days go by a little more quietly.” Wren half-joked. Dylan shrugged.</p>
<p>“It’s fine. I know the feeling.” </p>
<p>“We’re almost done with the allergy test and then I’ll be out of your hair.” </p>
<p>“Take your time” he responded, the side of his mouth curling up in a faint smile. Even with his assurance, Wren was flustered from the whole interaction with Agnes and rushed through the rest of the swatches. </p>
<p>“Um...yeah. Just call me if you have any allergy symptoms within the next day or so. My number’s on the door if you need it.” she muttered, running her hand through her hair again. It was a bit of a nervous habit. </p>
<p>Dylan stood up, giving her a soft smile. He clasped her hand between both of his, almost like he was apologizing on Agnes’ behalf. Wren’s heart thudded in her chest. Damn, he was handsome. And those <em>eyes</em>.</p>
<p>“Looking forward to working with you.” he said. </p>
<p>“You too!” she chirped. Did she sound too eager? He released her hand and turned to leave, still wearing that soft smile. </p>
<p>She had more actors to work with, of course, but the rest of the day seemed to rush by. And she couldn’t seem to get the memory of Dylan’s soft blue eyes out of her head.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Filming Begins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>My Roanoke Nightmare has begun filming, and Wren finds herself chatting with the actor seated in her makeup chair</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- So this one's in second person cause I liked the way it felt a little better. I know the first one's in third person, but I figured it would be better for introducing Wren (...and I didn't feel like going back and changing it)<br/>- Also I suck at making creative chapter titles so whatever.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You wiped down your table and chair. Technically filming started a week ago, but most of that was just getting the one-on-ones with Shelby, Matt, and Lee. Sidney didn’t even want them in makeup, he said it felt more “personal” to have them bare-faced. So most of last week was just you and the other MUA’s sharing your sketches for the settlers, making sure they all looked like part of the same group.</p>
<p>You loved your job as it was - it always made you feel accomplished to see your works on TV, even if nobody saw your face. And while you were dreading your interactions with Agnes, you couldn’t help but feel a little excited to speak with Dylan again. </p>
<p>You and the other MUA’s had taken care of the extras already - while any actors with lines were meeting with Sidney. And, as promised, you’d swapped one of your extras for Agnes Mary Winstead, in the hopes that you could avoid another altercation. </p>
<p>No such luck. Agnes came in after a very short session with Sidney (and who could blame him, she was practically the Butcher already), wouldn’t sit still, and bitched about you “all up in her face and poking her with stuff” the whole time. By the time you had her set as the Butcher, you were praying to any god that would listen that Agnes wouldn’t keep this up the whole filming season. </p>
<p>Agnes wandered off onto set, and you collapsed into your chair. It was barely 9 AM. Sidney wanted to save daylight for filming, so he insisted everyone get there before sunrise. So you’d been here, getting actors ready to film, since before dawn. You took a deep sip of your coffee. It had gone cold hours ago, but caffeine was caffeine. </p>
<p>“Should I come back later?” A low voice asked. You sat up, seeing Dylan standing in the doorway. He gave you that sympathetic smile again and took a step into the room.</p>
<p>“No, no, you’re fine. I’m just tired” you said, waving him over, “And besides, Sidney’d have my head if I interrupted his filming schedule.”</p>
<p>He chuckled at that, then, and with a smile you got up so he could take a seat. You got to work right away, grabbing the products you’d need to add scars and grime, to make him look like a bedraggled colonist. You noted that he’d been letting his beard grow out, just as you’d asked him to. </p>
<p>“This can take a while, I’ve got music if you’d like. What do you listen to?” you offered. Your phone was already hooked up to a small speaker (though Agnes had shunned all of your offers at music). </p>
<p>“Oh, anything. Whatever you want is fine.” he replied, turning his head to look at you. You quirked an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“You sure? Cause when I say my playlist has everything, I mean it has everything. I’m pretty sure I have a sea shanty on there somewhere.” you joked. He let out a soft chuckle.</p>
<p>“Surprise me.” he said. Laughter gleamed in his eyes. You shrugged and set your playlist to random as you got to work. </p>
<p>When you had first started working as an SFX artist, you’d thought it was weird. Imagine having to sit still for hours while some rando messed around with your face (or for some, your whole body). It was definitely weird when people didn’t talk at all, just sat there in silence. It made you uncomfortable. So you always had music, and you’d try to make conversation with whoever sat in the chair. </p>
<p>“So how’d you get into acting?” you muttered, still mostly focused on a piece of stubborn scar wax that refused to stay stuck to his skin. His blue eyes flashed up to yours, and his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile - but he was trying to stay still so you could do the makeup.</p>
<p>“Hmm. I don’t really know.” he let out a short chuckle. “I know that sounds weird. I just got done touring with the Army and figured it would be an interesting job to go into.” </p>
<p>“You were in the Army?” you asked. Your eyes flicked down to his collar, looking for dog tags.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Two tours in Afghanistan. Took some pretty nasty shrapnel to the chest but otherwise I’m alright.” His eyes went distant with the memory. </p>
<p>“Well, lucky you don’t have to take off your shirt until next week.” you joked, trying to bring him back to the present. It worked...but not in the way you hoped. His eyes flashed up to yours, and his cheeks went red. </p>
<p>“I mean...your costume.” you backpedaled, feeling your own face go hot, “You have a different costume next week and it shows more of your chest so-” You cut yourself off, realizing you were babbling. You ran a hand through your hair, looking utterly mortified. </p>
<p>“Mind if I dig myself into an even deeper hole?” you muttered sarcastically, busying yourself with a bruise wheel. You were sure that your face was still beet red, probably your ears too. </p>
<p>You kept working, keeping your idiot mouth clamped shut as you finished up with the scars on his arms and face. You weren’t even paying attention to the music anymore, just trying to get through the makeup without any more major embarrassments. Of course you’d screw things up with the hottest guy on set (sorry Rory) after barely having a single conversation with him. </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>You worked in this awkward silence for about 20 minutes, and you were very nearly done when Dylan finally broke it.</p>
<p>“You weren’t kidding about that sea shanty, huh?” he laughed, tilting his head to look up at you. You glanced around, bewildered, for a moment, before you realized he was referring to your music. Indeed, your little Bluetooth speaker was filling the air with a song straight out of the 1400’s. You laughed, and that seemed to break through the awkward spell. </p>
<p>“You didn’t believe me?” you teased, “I told you this playlist had everything.” You paused, touching up his look for a moment before you stepped to the side so he could look in the mirror.</p>
<p>“There you are, Ambrose. All set for filming.” He took a moment to look himself over in the mirror, taking in the wild, almost feral look you’d given him. He seemed impressed.</p>
<p>“Not quite. Be a little odd to see a colonial settler wearing a flannel and jeans, huh?” He noted, gesturing at his clothes. You raised your hands in mock surrender.</p>
<p>“Not my domain. But you’re all done with makeup, I mean.” He got up, sparing one last glance at himself in the mirror. </p>
<p>“Then I better get on that.” he said with a smile, meeting your eyes for a moment. Sidney’s voice came over the intercom, 10 minutes to film call. Dylan shrugged, then turned to go and finish getting ready. You could have sworn you saw him wink at you.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Well, That Was Something</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The other MUA's confront Wren about the interaction she had with Dylan</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- Pretty short chapter<br/>- I'm still not used to how AO3 formats things, what looks like a lot of writing in a Google Doc is surprisingly short on here lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You said <em>what?</em>” Tyler yelped. Rose giggled from behind them. Clearly everyone in the room had heard what you said, and even if they hadn’t Tyler had made you repeat it three times already. You dropped your face into your hands, mortified.</p><p>“I told him .... I told him that next week he had to take his shirt off” you mumbled into your hands. “But I was <em>talking</em> about his <em>costume!</em>”</p><p>Even with your head in your hands, you could <em>feel</em> the shit-eating grin Tyler was giving you. You knew they were just teasing you: by tomorrow they’d drop it, and you trusted them not to spill a word of this to Dylan - but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing. </p><p>“I can’t blame you for flirting with him. He’s hot.” Tyler conceded.</p><p>“I was <em>not</em> flirting!” You insisted. </p><p>“No? Well he was definitely flirting with you.”</p><p>You looked up at that, just to give Tyler a disbelieving glance. That was banter, maybe, but that was how most of your conversations went. Unless you were talking to, say, your boss, you had a tendency to quip your way through a conversation. Which...you supposed that made talking to you an acquired taste, but for the people witty enough to quip back…</p><p>“That’s just how I talk, Ty.” you insisted. They gave you one more eyebrow-raise before turning their attention to the red “Recording” light above the door. As long as you were quiet enough and had the door closed, they couldn’t hear you on set. </p><p>As if on cue, the light blinked off, and you could faintly hear Sidney’s voice calling for lunch. Tyler opened the door, wincing as it let out a harsh screech. They walked out, making a beeline for craft services. You rolled your eyes at their back one final time before following them.</p><p>Lunch was...uneventful. You chatted with some of the actors and crew members, which was nice. Sidney called everyone back to set, and the other SFX artists retreated back to the makeup room. You didn’t. </p><p>You gave the excuse that you wanted to watch them film, but really you just wanted to escape whatever psychological torment Tyler had for you back in the makeup room. </p><p>It really was impressive to watch how the actors seemed to dissolve into their characters. As soon as Sidney called action, the group of smiling actors just … transformed into a group of feral colonists. And as soon as he said “Cut!”, all of the malice in their body language just dissolved again. </p><p>And of course, no matter what scene you watched them film, your eyes always tended to drift back to the same person.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Finding a Rhythm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's been a few more weeks since filming began. Wren starts to find an easy pattern to fall into ... mostly</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been a little over a month since filming began. You had finally come to a tentative agreement with Agnes, and friendships with everyone else. Things were going well. Granted, being on set at 5 in the morning was still a major pain in the ass, but with the music and conversations (and plenty of coffee) it wasn’t so bad. </p><p>You drove down the long dirt road, towards the famed Roanoke house. In the darkness, surrounded by trees, you could definitely see how these woods could be haunted. Once or twice, you thought you saw a figure standing among the trees, but you brushed it off. You’d woken up late today, and hadn’t had time to stop for coffee. You were tired. </p><p>And you still didn’t fully understand why Sidney had decided to fly all the way from California to film here. Why hadn’t he just built a set for it? It would have been easier (and probably cheaper) than flying everyone out here, making them stay in the same crappy hotel for months, and driving half an hour into the middle of nowhere to film. It would probably be less traumatic for Shelby, Lee, and Matt too. They filmed their one-on-ones in a separate studio in town, but you could tell just being in proximity to the house was wearing on them.</p><p>You were sort of in a fog all morning. You felt a little jealous of the actors - they could catch a few extra hours of sleep before heading to set, and even then they had at least an hour to just sit as you applied their makeup. By some grace of God, Agnes was blissfully silent as you worked on her. Usually you hated silence as you worked, but today you were just grateful she hadn’t decided to argue.</p><p>Honestly, sometimes dealing with her was like dealing with a petulant toddler. You gripped your hair with a hand, taking a deep breath. Almost done. Then you could sit and watch them film, and maybe touch up someone’s makeup as you go, but the brunt of the work would be through. </p><p>You waited a few extra minutes by your chair. Where was Dylan? He was usually so prompt when it came to work. You got up, walking out of the makeup room to investigate. He wasn’t on set either. This was really odd, and to be honest you were getting a little worried. </p><p>Sidney seemed worried, too. He paced back and forth - but he tended to pace even when he wasn’t missing a cast member. </p><p>“Where the hell is he? This I could expect from Rory, or even Monet, but Dylan’s never late.” he muttered angrily. You bit back some remark about making us shoot in the middle of the woods, and walked up to him instead.</p><p>“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Sidney.” you assured him, “He’s just running a little behind.”</p><p>“This better not interrupt my filming schedule,” he ranted, “We need to have these scenes wrapped up.” </p><p>He went back to pacing. You went back to watching the road. After about ten more minutes, you saw a car coming down the road. Given the fact that it wasn’t a pickup, you knew it couldn’t be one of the Polks. </p><p>The car parked in the lot beside the house, and Dylan stepped out. He looked alright, if a little frazzled, and you felt a rush of relief. You told yourself it was nothing, just caring about a friend. He carried a drink tray in one hand as he walked towards you and Sidney.</p><p>“Sorry I’m late. There was a downed tree in the middle of the road, I had to find another route. But I brought coffee!” he offered, lifting the tray a bit for emphasis.</p><p>“Just get in costume.” Sidney barked, completely ignoring Dylan’s apology. You gave him a sympathetic smile as you both walked over to the makeup room.</p><p>“Sorry about him. He’s just stressed.” you apologized. Dylan let out a little laugh as he set down the tray of coffee.</p><p>“When is he <em>not?</em>” he retorted.</p><p>“True.” you laughed. Dylan flashed you a lopsided grin and sat down so you could start your work.</p><p>“One of those coffees is for you, by the way.” he said, then paused, “Though they’re probably cold by now, given my little ‘detour’.”</p><p>“Eh, I’ve been here since 5. At this point you could have asked for a Ghost Pepper Latte and I’d probably still drink it.” you joked as you walked over to the tray, finding the cup with your name on it. You took a sip. </p><p>Then you got to work. Thankfully, you only had minimal work to do on him today, you could still be done on time if you got going now. You found yourself in “The Zone”, and even with your delay you got done with the makeup a few minutes early. </p><p>“There we go, right on time. Hopefully Sidney won’t yell at you again.” you said, taking a step back as you finished with the last bit of grime brushed across his forearm. He smiled gratefully at you, as he left to go get in costume. </p><p>“Just ask him out already.” Tyler said as soon as he was out of earshot. </p><p>“Shut up.” you teased.</p><p>“I’m serious! You two spend every day flirting with each other. And he brought you coffee.”</p><p>“He brought everyone coffee.”</p><p>“Potato, potahto. He’s into you.” they insisted. You raised your eyebrows at them. </p><p>“Honestly, Wren, for someone so damn smart you’re acting like such an idiot.”</p><p>“I don’t need you playing matchmaker, Ty. We’re just friends.”</p><p>They raised their hands, conceding. You gave them a slight smile, to show them you weren’t actually angry at them, then walked out to watch filming like you always did. On your way out, you nearly crashed into someone. You mumbled an apology before you even realized who you’d bumped into. </p><p>“Sorry, left my phone in here. Who’s Tyler trying to set you up with this time?” Dylan’s curious voice asked. Behind him, Tyler was grinning, silently cackling at your situation. Play it cool, Wren.</p><p>“Just….some guy.” You inwardly cringed at your comment. You sounded like such an idiot. Dylan gave you a long look, waiting for you to elaborate. After a moment, he let it go and shrugged, apparently deciding it wasn't his business.</p><p>“Alright then. See you on set?”</p><p>“See you there.” </p><p>He walked out again, and you flipped Tyler the bird from behind his back. They stuck out their tongue playfully and mouthed “ASK HIM”. You waved them off and followed Dylan out onto set. Maybe someday...</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Out of the Limelight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wren laments how nobody really notices what the SFX artists do, so Dylan pulls a few strings</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- I felt like this was a pretty long chapter, but again that was the Google Doc version so who knows how long it'll turn out to be<br/>- Thought it was pretty cute though, enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I don’t know, I’m just saying people don’t realize how much <em>work</em> goes on back here!” Rose insisted. She always struck you as the kind of person who desperately wanted to gain stardom. And she was a decent MUA, even if she had a tendency to whine about people not noticing her.</p><p>“They see our work on camera. Any time they see some movie monster on-screen, that’s us.” Tyler offered, trying for the millionth time to appease her. Rose seemed to be in an especially bad mood today - maybe because the first episode had gone out yesterday and everyone was raving about it on Twitter. </p><p>You tried to stay out of it and focus on Dylan’s makeup. Today you had a lot to do - they were shooting the poison scene today, and the effects for that took a bit more time and effort than usual. </p><p>“What about you, Wren? Don’t you think they should pay more attention to us behind-the-scenes folks?”</p><p>You sighed, giving Dylan a “is she serious?” look. He let out a small laugh, more of a breath really. Then you turned to look at Rose.</p><p>“I dunno. I guess it <em>would</em> be kind of nice if they did some sort of behind-the-scenes video, to show off what we do? But Tyler’s right. It’s sort of in the job description that we’re not on camera.” you suggested with a shrug. There was a faint note of distaste in your voice: Rose had a point that the actors and directors seemed to get all the fame. You turned back to keep working on Dylan, and found him looking at you curiously. Like he had an idea and wouldn’t share it with you.</p><p>_ _ _ </p><p>You’d all but forgotten about that conversation until two days later. </p><p>Dylan and the other “settlers” were busy, and you were working on casting a silicone mold of the Piggy Man head. This was the third version of the mold - you were trying to find a way to incorporate discreet eye-holes into the base of the head. Apparently, anyone wearing the head was effectively blind, and you sought to fix that. But it wasn’t going well. </p><p>And then Rory had walked in, wielding a GoPro.</p><p>“Welcome to the makeup room!” he practically yelled into the camera, “This is where the Butcher is born!”</p><p>You stood up, covered in plaster and silicone. You were...probably a complete mess, but the surprise of the moment overwhelmed your feelings of self-consciousness.</p><p>“Rory, what the hell are you doing?”</p><p>“Shooting some extra footage. Sidney said we can put it after the credits. Or post the videos on YouTube. He’s getting some guys to put cameras up in here and in the props room tomorrow, but until then…” he flipped the GoPro around, holding it at arms-length like he was taking a selfie. He grinned and winked at the camera. You couldn’t help but mirror his smile.</p><p>“Did Dylan put you up to this?” you half-laughed. </p><p>“Maaaybe.” Of course he did. You had to admit, it was a sweet gesture. You felt your cheeks grow hot and prayed you weren’t blushing. Instead, you turned back to the mold you were making.</p><p>“Well, right now we’re making some casts to use for the Piggy Man, if you want to film that.” You gestured to the plasters surrounding you, as Tyler and Rose airbrushed a few of the completed silicone pig heads. </p><p>“Um. It turns out that you can’t see if you’re wearing one of these, so we’re fixing that.” you continued. You walked over to another table, gesturing for Rory to follow.</p><p>“First we sculpt the head with clay. Thankfully we still had the model from the first pig head we built, so we didn’t have to start completely over.” You picked up the heavy clay model, turning it around so the camera could catch every angle.</p><p>“Then we need to cast it in plaster, and pour silicone into the mold to make the actual costume piece. That’s what I’m doing over here.” you explained. You kept going in this way, explaining the steps. It started to get pretty fun, and Rose was quick to notice the camera and join in. You made a mental note to thank Dylan once he was done filming. </p><p>Rory ran off to “go film the scenery guys” and Tyler walked over to you. Here comes another barrage of comment on how you should get together with Dylan…</p><p>But strangely, they just smiled at you. </p><p>“That was actually pretty fun. Looks like you got your behind-the-scenes video.” </p><p>“And it sounds like Sidney’s making it a permanent fixture. We better start watching our language.” you joked. You ran a hand through your hair, smiling. </p><p>“You need to go thank your boyfriend for that, by the way.”</p><p>“Not my boyfriend.” you said, prompting an eye-roll from Tyler, “But yeah, I’ll go find him once he’s done filming.”</p><p>_ _ _</p><p>It was 5 o’clock. The actors were busy getting out of costumes, and Tyler walked over to your station. </p><p>“I’ll pack up for today.” they offered. For once you were grateful for their little matchmaking scheme. You thanked them, then walked over to Dylan’s trailer, hoping to intercept him before he got out of costume. </p><p>He walked over a moment later, and your heart gave an extra thump when you saw a smile burst across his face. Even dressed in rags and decked out in wound makeup, you found him insanely attractive. But you’d never admit to Tyler about your little workplace crush.</p><p>“I take it you noticed my little surprise?” he asked. You nodded.</p><p>“Thank you for that, by the way. I think that's the happiest I’ve ever seen Rose.” He ducked his head, and you just barely caught the hint of a blush across his cheekbones. </p><p>“I didn’t do it for Rose, you know.” he murmured, just barely audible. You bit your lip, summoning all your courage. You reached out, gently grabbing his forearm. He looked up.</p><p>“I know.” you said, meeting his eyes. You gave him a soft smile even as you felt the blood rush into your face. You both stood there for a moment, savoring each others’ presence. After a moment, he took a deep breath.</p><p>“I should...probably get out of costume.” he breathed, and you stepped aside for him to enter his trailer. He brushed past you, but paused in the doorway. </p><p>“Wren?” he asked, turning to look at you.</p><p>“Yeah, Dylan?” You couldn’t seem to get your voice above a whisper.</p><p>“Would you want to go grab dinner some time?”</p><p>You tilted your head, feigning aloof.</p><p>“Dylan Walker, are you asking me on a date?” you teased. He laughed.</p><p>“That was the idea, yes. Thursday maybe, after work?”</p><p>“I’d love to.” you chirped, unable to keep a grin off your face. He held your eyes for a long moment before he nodded, taking the final step into his trailer. You spun on your heel, still grinning. </p><p>You grabbed your phone as you walked out to your car, waving goodbye to your coworkers. You shot a quick text to Tyler: “Okay fine, you were right. Having dinner on Thursday”. It was barely thirty seconds before they responded with a seemingly endless string of emoji’s. Drama queen. </p><p>You drove back to the hotel still in a whirlwind of happiness. You were already looking forward to Thursday.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Closer Than Before</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wren and Dylan go on their date</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- sorry for letting this go stagnant for so long, I promise I'll get back to updating it</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You waited in the lobby of the hotel, awkwardly fiddling with your clothing. You and Dylan had agreed to meet here so you could walk over to the restaurant. That was the one good thing about filming in the middle of nowhere, you supposed. Almost everyone working on My Roanoke Nightmare was stuck in the same crappy hotel - the only hotel in town, in fact. Which at least meant making plans was easy.</p><p>After work, you’d driven back to the hotel to get cleaned up and changed. It was a good thing the restaurant wasn’t overly fancy, you hadn’t brought many non-work clothes with you. And your work clothes were often spattered with fake blood, so that nixed that idea. But you’d thankfully had the foresight to pack a couple nice blouses, so you weren’t completely out of luck. You’d chosen a garnet-colored blouse, accented with a delicate silver necklace. The sleeves were short: no way you were wearing long sleeves during August in North Carolina!</p><p>The elevator dinged, and Dylan stepped out. He’d changed into a black button-up and slacks, and despite the wild hair and beard he kept for filming, he looked very classy. He took a few steps over to you, and you took his hand. You’d walk to the restaurant, it wasn’t far. </p><p>Like the gentleman he was, he held the door for you as you entered the restaurant. A waitress led you to a table, and he sat down across from you. The two of you ordered your drinks and an appetizer, making conversation while you waited.</p><p>“What does your tattoo mean?” Dylan asked, gesturing to the ink that wrapped around your left wrist and down your forearm. It almost wrapped to your elbow, but there were a few inches of bare skin free. One day you’d get it finished. You held out your left arm, letting him take a closer look. </p><p>“It’s my family. This one’s my mom.” you said, pointing to the spot just below your wrist. A stylized airplane, crossing diagonally across your arm, soared over a row of tiny trinkets. They were modeled after the knicknacks you’d seen sitting on the mantle your whole life. </p><p>“She’s a pilot. Everytime she flies to somewhere she’s never been before, she brings home a little trinket. She keeps them above the fireplace. She must be running out of space by now.” you said, tracing your fingers over the design. You ran your index finger towards the left, around the back of your arm, to the next design.</p><p>“This one’s for my dad. He loves to garden and cook.” you said, pointing to the trowel that crossed with a kitchen knife on the back of your forearm, “Every time Mom came home from a trip, he’d make this big welcome-home meal with all the things he grew in the garden. You’d think it would get old after a while, but we all loved it.” Your fingers moved down, closer to your elbow, where light blue snowflakes drifted over snowy hills. </p><p>“My brother. His favorite season was always winter, ever since we were little. He used to drag me outside to make snowmen every winter.” You laughed, “He lives in Colorado now. He sends me postcards of him skiing in the Rockies.”</p><p>“I think we’d get along well. I used to go snowboarding every winter as a kid.” Dylan interjected casually. You could picture it: Dylan as a kid skirting down bunny-hills, dark hair escaping his winter hat, blue eyes nearly silver from all the light that reflected off the snow. You ran your fingers over to the inside of your forearm, pointing to the final design.</p><p>“This one’s me.” You tapped the design under your index finger. An anatomical heart, split in half. The left side was realistic, detailed in black and white. The right side was more interpretive, colorful and geometric. “I figured it fit. A little creative, in a dark way. I mean, just look at where I am now. Doing makeup for horror shows, I love it.”</p><p>Your fingers drifted to the blank space at the bottom. The tattoo ended roughly, mainly because it was unfinished. You weren’t sure what the last design would be, the one that would finish off your tattoo. All the designs you’d thought up didn’t really seem like they fit, not the way you wanted them to at least. </p><p>“I still need to figure out what’s going here. I’ve been drawing up designs for a few months now, but nothing seems to fit, y’know? I’ll find something eventually.” You said with a shrug, then turned your attention back to Dylan, “What about you, any tattoos?”</p><p>“Not yet, no. Thinking of getting one in the future, though. Something to honor my buddies I lost in Afghanistan.” You nodded solemnly in acknowledgement. There was a moment of silence, respecting the memory of Dylan’s fallen friends.</p><p>After that, conversation seemed to flow between the two of you. You discussed your favorite books and movies, your careers, anything really. You lingered in the restaurant long after you’d finished eating, just enjoying each others’ company. It was odd - you spent hours every day in proximity to each other, talking just like you did now, but this was different. And it was nice. </p><p>Dylan was clever, which made conversation with him very engaging. And he listened, really <em>listened</em>, when it was your turn to speak. You already knew you shared many interests with him, from your conversations back at the makeup counter, but somehow you kept finding new things to talk about. </p><p>After you’d toed the line of overstaying your welcome at the restaurant - both of you had finished eating, and clearly they wanted to clean up for the night - you’d continued your conversation on the way back to the hotel. You’d offered to split the bill, but Dylan insisted on paying on the grounds that <em>he’d</em> asked <em>you</em> out. </p><p>The walk back to the hotel was annoyingly short. It was ridiculous, of course, that you were practically begging time to slow down. You’d see him again tomorrow morning, and surely you’d talk then like you always did, but there was something special about spending time with just him like this. </p><p>He’d walked you all the way up to the door of your hotel room before you finally had to end the date. You weren’t one for kissing on the first date, but… </p><p>You moved closer, rising up on your toes to reach his height. Dylan leaned down, closing the gap, and gently put his hands on your waist. You pressed your lips to his, feeling the scratch of his beard as he deepened the kiss. After what felt like hours, you broke apart. Dylan looked down at you, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. Your heart fluttered in your chest. </p><p>“Goodnight, Dylan.” you said, fumbling for your room key. </p><p>“Goodnight, Wren.” he replied, “See you tomorrow.” </p><p>As he walked down the hall, you slipped into your hotel room. In the darkness of the room, you couldn’t keep the grin off your face.</p>
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